


Hurt Me

by FictitiousFanatisch



Series: Can't Breathe [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bottom Zayn, Breathplay, Choking, Depressing Thoughts, Derogatory Language, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Free Verse, Hurt, Islamophobia, M/M, Pain, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religion, Sad, Smut, Top Liam, graphic depictions of blood, sort of, triggering, use of slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictitiousFanatisch/pseuds/FictitiousFanatisch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the way things were meant to be. It was natural, like the rising and the setting of the sun everyday. Zayn was supposed to get hurt. He deserved it, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt Me

 

 

** < < < <**

 

 

_"Zayn... I've loved you since I was eighteen. It's been a long time coming and I think that as a couple we're definitely ready to take this next step in our relationship. I need you in my life forever, you know... and I want to wake up with you in my arms every day for the rest of my life and, well... I know you don't like it when I ramble on and on, so... will you marry me?"_

 

That's how Zayn had dreamed it, anyway.

 

He smirked bitterly to himself as he dragged his spoon through the milky solution of his black tea, tearing himself from his unethical thoughts. There was no point in what he was thinking.

 

He had accidentally torn the tea bag and so in a thin film at the top of his drink was a layer of scattered tea leaves, dark sprinkles littering the liquid. He hadn't even had any real interest in the drink anymore. He was mentally deflated.

 

Zayn rubbed his tired eyes, his whole body weak with the aching sensation that tore through his entire body every time he shifted in his seat.

 

A whole year had passed since Zayn started to notice a significant increase in his boyfriend's abusive habits. It had been slowly increasing with the stress at Liam's job and the extreme power imbalance between the two. Now, the abuse was at an all time high, and Zayn was fully convinced that it had reached the pinnacle.

 

Zayn knew it wasn't going to get any better, and kind of assumed that what doesn't get better is getting worse, but he didn't want to think about it. He was alone all day and forced to replay Liam's words over and over in his head until he returned home with more insults and new ways to make Zayn hate himself. It was now moving past subtle inconsistencies to outright maltreatment, physically and emotionally and Zayn wasn't sure how much more of it he could take. He felt so horrible all the time, all day every day. The only person in his life; the only person he had any contact with, was his master. Liam was his king, his absolute, his dictator, and whatever he wanted Zayn to do or be or take, that's what would happen. There was no more question as to whether or not he should obey or not. There way no longer spells of braveness where he would speak up or open the front door simply out of curiosity.

 

Zayn was the subordinate.

 

Zayn was always the subordinate.

 

He was the lesser. He was to subject himself to Liam. He was to submit all his power to the higher force. He was the Payne home fucked society's version of a woman. He was the one who cooked and cleaned and shut up and got down on his knees and obeyed instantaneously and kept his thoughts very _very_ silent. He was the one who did whatever was expected of him without hesitation or debate.

 

He was the one who just stood there and took it, every time.

 

So Zayn spent his time doing his chores as always, but in addition; on his knees praying everyday for some sort of salvation. He didn't know what else to do. He was completely drained of the energy and ideas pertaining to how he would ever escape the man who seemed to watch and control his every breath. He knew the only way he would get out of this alive (or dead) would be through Allah and Allah alone.

 

Zayn stood from his seat, steadying his wobbly limbs on the back of the chair before picking up his black mug and walking himself up the tiny step and into the house.

 

He had already watered the plants, and iced the orchids, feeling too broken to spend much time with them this morning.

 

He placed his mug in the sink, hands holding the edge of the sink before he began to turn and retreat from the kitchen.

 

He'd take care of it later.

 

He just had to lay down for a few minutes. Then he'd get up and take care of it.

 

He limped down to hallway, hands stabilising him on the wall the entire journey to the room.

 

He pushed open the door to their bedroom, his expression pained as he manoeuvred over to his side of the bed. Or rather, the side of the bed Liam allowed him to rest on.

 

He leaned over to push the tangled white sheets out of his way before turning his body around. He winced as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He turned himself sideways, then lowered his back down flat against the mattress. He exhaled hotly into the cold air of the room, his eyes closing for a short moment. He was just getting comfortable, breathing calmly and starting to forget that horrendous pain in his backside when the phone rang.

 

Zayn wanted to cry.

 

He pushed himself up, and made his way from the bedroom all the way back to the kitchen as quickly as he could limp in just enough time to catch the final ring of the home line. He had to lean against the wall, though. He was in too much pain.

 

"Hello, Payne Residence," he said in a plastic voice, the phone pressed to his temple as he awaited a reply.

 

"Zayn? What took you so long to answer the phone?" Liam asked roughly, in the effortlessly derogatory way he had perfected.

 

"I was... just... um making the bed," Zayn replied, hoping to the heavens above that was a good enough answer.

 

"Don't bother with that. I need you to make sure the rest of the house is spotless. I'm having some people from work over this evening to discuss some possible pitches for our newest client."

 

"Okay. Will they have eaten? Or do I need to cook?"

 

"Just... don't be in the way when I get home. Cook if that's what you want to do, but be in the room when we get there. I don't want you interfering." Liam said, firmly.

 

He really hated how cynical Liam was. Sometimes he genuinely wanted a direct _yes_ or _no_ , and Liam played all these games while Zayn suffered the pressure of not confidently knowing what to do. Not that it would matter anyway. Liam would still hurt him.

 

"O-kay... will _you_ have eaten?" He asked softly, not wanting to repeat himself and irritate Liam.

 

"No, Zayn. I will not have. Jesus, you're so fucking stupid." He slurred, as if completely baffled by Zayn's apparent asininity.

 

"Sorry... "

 

"Whatever. I'm seriously going to need you to be in that room. I don't need my co-workers seeing you, so make sure you do that,"

 

"Alright," Zayn responded, twirling the black phone chord between his fingers.

 

"Get going. I'll be home by dark," Liam said into the phone before ending the call.

 

Zayn sighed into the dial tone, still holding the phone to his ear pathetically.

 

"I love you, too, Liam." he whispered.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

Zayn did cook, making sure the spaghetti and sauce was done as close to Liam's return as possible so he wasn't chided for being careless and letting it get cold. He still hadn't been sure how many people were coming and whether or not they would be hungry, so he made a whole pot of angel hair just in case.

 

He had swept and mopped the kitchen floor and all that good stuff after his call with Liam, the harm done to his body the night before weighting him like a ton of bricks and making it impossible for him to complete all his work without stopping every few minutes in between for a break. He was hot and exhausted by the time he'd finished, and decided that it was time for his much desired nap. He locked up the sunroom and then slowly made his way back to bed.

 

Zayn reminded himself to close the bedroom door before doing anything else.

 

Liam didn't want his co-workers to know he was gay. It made sense, but it didn't make it hurt any less to hear his boyfriend tell him that he didn't want them to know that he even existed. Liam wanted Zayn out of the picture entirely, and remorselessly told him to lock himself in their bedroom for the evening just to ensure that.

Zayn hadn't blinked, however. Liam had actually been particularly pleasant on the phone earlier.

 

He laid on the bed sideways this time, to avoid putting pressure on his arse.

 

Zayn's hair was out of control now, completely covering his face every time he tried to lay down and smothering him whenever he wanted to sleep. He started having to tie it back most of the time to get anything done, but his hair was thick too and he just gave up on that as soon as he broke his second to last hair tie. He tried asking Liam for a haircut, but Liam had replied that he needed the long hair to yank on when Zayn sucked him off and he hadn't brought it back up since.

 

He tucked a cluster of it behind his ear, just to free his airways, and then he let his overworked muscles relax into the cool mattress. Zayn pulled up the sheets, and breathed. He enjoyed breathing, knowing that even that basic human need was being taken from him.

 

Little by little.

 

He shut his tired eyes the stinging feeling of missed sleep burning his eyelids as he laid there.

 

In no time at all, the wonderful feeling of rest engulfed every one of his senses and dragged him under a warm blanket of safe and secure.

 

At least, for now.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

Sometimes Zayn really missed Liam.

 

Zayn would wake up to the dip of the bed as Liam was rising to leave him for the day, and Zayn felt so dispirited when that happened.

 

His mind would drift back to when he was nineteen and he had just moved in to Liam's first apartment with him. Liam would wake Zayn up with a soft hand on his back or a million randomly placed kisses all over his body; his fingers, his wrists, his shoulders, his neck, his cheeks, and the like, until he roused. Liam would then give him his good morning kiss and never, never, ever leave for work without it. Even if Liam was running late, or if Zayn was feeling poorly, Liam would hold him tightly, kiss him deeply, and tell him he loved him, before backing out of the doorway.

 

Zayn really missed those days.

 

Liam never kissed Zayn anymore.

 

Liam never hugged Zayn or touched him in that way. Liam never wanted to put his hands on Zayn to comfort him or to assure him or to make him feel safe. Liam never wanted to hold Zayn, or sit with him with his arm draped over Zayn's shoulders. Liam never just rested his head in the crook of Zayn's neck or threaded his fingers with Zayn's. Liam never did anything like that anymore.

 

Liam just didn't give Zayn love anymore.

 

Zayn hated that. Zayn had always communicated through human touch. He was a tactile person. He always needed reassurance in a small touch or kiss or something, but Liam was depriving him of yet another basic need that was unique to him.

 

In that way, he felt neglected, all the time. Liam wasn't always physically abusing him. In fact, sometimes his lack of physical contact was what hurt just as much. And in the same way, emotionally, Liam could care less about Zayn's feelings.

 

And it only got worse when alcohol was involved.

 

Yeah, Liam would make small comments or scold Zayn for little things on a regular basis, but more recently, he had been drinking more and more as an outlet to the work stress he brought home.

 

And Liam was mean.

 

Under the intoxication, Liam was constantly calling him rude names, telling him how insipid he was and how useless he was. Liam was always pushing him around, doing subtle things that made Zayn feel especially insecure. Liam would call him his bitch. He would sometimes ignore Zayn when he was trying to ask or clarify something Liam wanted him to do, simply so he could punish Zayn later for not doing it. Liam would make fun of Zayn's middle name, and ask why the fuck he prayed five times every day even though he clearly knew. Liam wouldn't even bother to apologise about any of it, no matter how ruthless he got.

 

It was just plain mean, and Zayn had told himself over and over that this was nothing new and that there was no need for tears and that he wasn't going to cry and he was stronger than that because they were just words and words didn't hurt but the thing was, the words were coming from Liam.

 

Liam.

Liam.

Liam.

 

And Zayn couldn't help but let the tears fall again and again against his pillow because he just missed it when Liam would treat him humanely.

 

He just missed Liam.

 

So.

Much.

 

And he would always miss Liam until he returned.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

"Zayn." Liam called from his normal spot on the couch.

 

Zayn dropped his laundry basket onto the bed and made his way down the hallway.

 

He he hated how controlled he came to be over the years. He was a thoughtless prune that had sat and fermented for three long years in a vat of total submission and full surrender.

 

It was all he knew how to be.

 

It was who he was, now.

 

There was no changing that.

 

Zayn made his presence known in the room, but Liam's eyes were glowing with the reflection of all the colors playing on the television. He assumed Liam hadn't seen him, being too engaged in the blaring infomercials.

 

Liam watched way too much tv for his own good. He had a few favourite programs that he got really into and that caused his blood pressure to rise and made it harder for him to stay asleep all night and Zayn knew this. It wasn't healthy considering his condition. But Zayn would never say anything to him about it. He wouldn't. He couldn't. His opinion didn't matter and it never would. If he were to speak up, Liam would never have it. Liam would lose his temper. Liam would raise his voice. Liam would watch as much tv as he damn well pleased.

 

Then Zayn would get hit.

 

And that would be the end of it.

 

Zayn stood there uncertainly, picking with the hems of his green jumper sleeves, and chewing the cut on his bottom lip.

 

He looked up when he heard the tv shut off.

 

"Come sit," Liam said, sort of pleasantly, eyes bright as he pat his hand over the space on couch beside him. Zayn's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. But he obeyed.

 

He sat down, and pulled his legs up so they were criss crossed underneath him on the couch. He immediately began to chew his blunt nails.

 

"...so... I've been thinking about us," Liam hummed sweetly, his dark chocolate eyes glistening in the most beautiful way.

 

Zayn forced himself to look away. This was weird. This wasn't the normal. This was the old and the unfamiliar. Liam hadn't even really said anything yet but Zayn's mind was already racing at the speed of lightning, terror and worry troubling him and making him feel so sick all of a sudden. Was this some theatrical production that would lead up to Zayn getting slapped and kicked and beaten? Would this lead up to Zayn getting thrown to the floor and stripped of all his clothing? Was this some sort of sick joke that would result in his complete humiliation? Zayn didn't know what to think. And he was scared.

 

"Next month will be five years." Liam said softly, his hand reaching out and touching Zayn's hair.

 

Zayn watched intently as he spoke, each word so simple and light and wrapped crisply in a calming tone and laced with the deep softness of his voice.

 

Zayn wasn't used to hearing Liam's soft voice. It kind of hurt his eardrums.

 

"... mum has been nagging me on it for nearly a year now and I'm almost twenty three now, and I think I'm ready to move on. The job is good. It looks like my boss might be transferring and in that case a new position will be opening. I could snag that spot. If that would be the case then we would be set."

 

Zayn wasn't sure where Liam was going with this. Although, it was strange Liam was telling him these details of his profession, he didn't complain. Liam almost never told him anything. It was a treat, for Zayn.

 

But Zayn still swallowed hard when Liam moved his hands down from his hair to his shoulders, thumb stroking over the light patch of thin dark hair on the nape of his neck.

 

"I know how you are and I'm sure that lost look on your face is telling me you have no clue what it is I'm going on about-"

 

_Well of course not. You haven't really told me anything_ , Zayn thought to himself.

 

"-so let me tell you like this. After my project is over I'll be free for the rest of the month. Sometime in the next two weeks I'm going to apply for a marriage license. I am going to bring it home and you're going to sign it. I've already been looking into bigger houses but until I get that promotion you're going to start packing your things and you're not going to bother me, okay?" Liam said to Zayn, like he was a baby. A child who was just too dumb to understand such a concept. Marriage.

 

When in reality, Zayn knew plenty of the sort. He knew that if he agreed to marry Liam, then he would never have to worry about accommodations like a place to live or food to eat or clothes to wear, ever again. Liam's family was rich. If it weren't for the money, Liam would never have gotten such a nice job at an advertising company so young. If it weren't for his money, Liam wouldn't have been able to afford to keep Zayn at home and unemployed. Liam wouldn't be able to pay for his treatments and medications without the money. If it weren't for Liam's money, he wouldn't have been able to buy them a new place. But he was clearly thinking about it.

 

Zayn also knew that if he married Liam, that he would be bound to him for life. He knew that his heart and soul and mind would have no choice but to cling to the man, in spite of anything else that happened. Zayn knew that it was his choice, and if he agreed, they would eventually settle down. He knew that they would adopt kids some day. It was what they wanted. They had talked about it once before all... this. Zayn knew that he would have to subject his kids to Liam and his unpredictable outbursts and lack of patience. He would have to accept it as love whenever Liam hit him. He would have to hide his bruises from his kids and lie to them and come up with ways to brush it off or say things like he fell or he would have to face the consequences of them knowing. He would have to raise them in such an unhealthy and unconventional environment that they would grow up thinking that it was okay to hit their spouse. And _God_ , what if Liam hit one of their kids? Zayn did NOT what that happening. Zayn knew that this was wrong. So why was he even considering this?

 

"...um... Liam?" Zayn opened his mouth, trying to ignore the way Liam's hand was creeping down his back.

 

"Yeah..." he sighed as he stared at Zayn, breathed laboured. Zayn felt uncomfortable with Liam's eyes on him like this.

 

"...I... I don't..."

 

Zayn was terrified. He didn't know how to tell Liam that getting married wasn't something he wanted to do. It was at some point, but now... Zayn was afraid. He couldn't have ever imagined four years ago that his boyfriend would eventually lock him up in the house and yell at him and hit him and hurt him. There was no way he would have agreed to this life back then. But here they were, with Liam proposing actual marriage, something Zayn always dreamed of, and Zayn couldn't believe he was actually trying to turn him down.

 

"What's up?" Liam asked, looking genuinely interested in what Zayn had to say and he felt himself getting really emotional because Liam was never like this anymore. He hardly even sat this close to Zayn. And now Liam was asking Zayn to give up his freedom for the rest of his life; to sign away his rights and willingly become Liam's personal slave by law for the remainder of his days. And he was being so nice to Zayn. Because he wanted Zayn to agree with this.

It was so absolutely wrong.

 

Zayn felt sort of bad. He was so fucking stupid. He was finally getting to sit with Liam like this. For them to have an actual moment as a couple, was rare, if ever. Now Zayn was about to fuck it all up and he wasn't sure what compelled him to be so idiotic.

 

"I just... it's just that I... don't..." Zayn sighed, turning his head away from Liam's gaze. He felt his eyes filling with water and his face growing hot and God, he didn't want Liam to see him like this.

 

"I know... I understand." Liam said. It was almost laughable it the most unamusing way.

 

Zayn laughed, dam breaking and tears flooding down the creases of his eyes.

 

This wasn't something Liam was capable of understanding.

 

Liam didn't get it.

 

Liam never got it.

So it sort of pissed Zayn off to hear Liam use those two words with him.

 

Liam just rubbed Zayn's back in a weird way, uncoordinatedly and awkwardly, considering his lack of knowledge on tactility. He never took his time to figure out that part of their relationship.

 

"It's okay. You don't have to thank me," Liam said, warmly.

 

And well, Zayn was fucking distraught.

 

He wanted to sob his eyes out until they were puffy and raw and his vocal chords were strained.

 

This wasn't some favour Liam was doing Zayn. Marriage was a two way street. This was a team effort. It was something you decided on and did together. It wasn't something Zayn was supposed to thank Liam for, and that just showed Zayn just which one of them was confused. It wasn't something you could just buy. Liam didn't get that, either. Liam wasn't use to working for what he got, and now that he had gotten Zayn's attention, he thought that was all he needed to do in order to restore their long lost connection.

 

But he didn't say anything.

 

And for that, Zayn really hated himself.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

"Come on. _Up_." Liam ordered, pushing Zayn with his arm.

 

Zayn turned over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he felt Liam's heavy hands grab onto his sides.

 

Liam had kept him up all week with this shit. Zayn was sure he was going to fall asleep. He'd done that before during sex. Liam got pissed and hit him but he couldn't even feel bad. Shit, if that's what it took to get Liam's attention and make him stop, then Zayn's glad it happened. He was kept up all night from the throbbing ache in his behind, and he was shoved out of bed at the crack of dawn to make Liam breakfast before work so Liam could sleep an extra hour.

 

Zayn wasn't feeling well. He was sore all over and exhausted and irritated and uncomfortable and he really didn't feel like having sex right now. He wanted to go to sleep. It felt like as soon as he laid down Liam was on him, bothering him about it and making him lose his mind.

 

Liam placed himself between Zayn's legs, his hands fumbling with the waistband of his briefs.

 

Zayn sighed and looked up.

 

He often wondered what he did wrong. He wondered why something like this would happen. He wondered why the heavens above would permit this kind of thing. Zayn wasn't a bad person. He tried to live well, and he hardly complained. He prayed as he was supposed to and he always complied with what Liam wanted, even if he didn't want to. He was a good housewife. He did his work thoroughly and completely. He wasn't a bad kid either. Although he wasn't any good at school he still tried his best in every subject. He respected his parents and did his chores and always apologised to his sisters when he played pranks on them. He was always a good person. And the only probable thing Zayn could think, was that it was his punishment for being gay.

 

He shivered as Liam pulled his clothing off of him, hands frantic and eyes hungry. Liam was always worse when he was this horny.

 

Then, Liam was pulling off his own pants and tossing them over the edge of the bed.

 

"Wait-wait," Zayn stopped Liam, palms flat against Liam's chest, feeling his soft chest hair under his fingertips.

 

"What?" Liam asked impatiently, but listened. For once.

"Lemme just... " Zayn scooted up the bed and away from Liam for a quick moment. His eyes scanned the night table in the darkness of the room; over his digital alarm clock and his ibuprofen, his allergy medication and his reading glasses. His eyes finally fell over the plastic bottle resting on the far end of the table next to his glass of water. He reached over and grabbed it.

 

"Here..." He said as he clicked open the dark blue cap and squirted some into his own hands.

 

He sat up slightly so he could pull Liam closer. He reached his arms out and placed his hands on Liam's thick flushed cock, coating every bit of it, from his balls to the head, in the wet, slick substance.

Zayn then laid back down against his pillow and retracted his arms.

 

"Okay... g-go ahead," Zayn rasped out, and blindly placed the bottle back on the night table.

 

"Keep your legs out of the way," Liam grumbled as he took hold of Zayn's hips. He barely took the time to line up right before he was pushing into him, making Zayn's body tense up with the intense pain. He was already raw and numb and now he was being forced open all over again.

 

He held onto Liam's biceps as he pressed in, inch by inch.

 

Liam was already huffing like an engine, tilting his head back in ecstasy as he received that much needed relief enveloping his desperate cock. He rocked in steadily, and it was much slower than anything Zayn had been expecting, but Zayn still felt like he was being split in half.

 

Liam then took hold of his thighs and pried them apart, pushing them into the mattress for better access.

 

"oh... please, Li that really hurts," he struggled, adding as much emphasis as he could, as if it would stop Liam from fucking him.

 

"You got your damn lube. Stop complaining," Liam answered him, rolling his hips down and grinding in deep and Zayn couldn't take it. It was so uncomfortable. He felt like he was being torn, like his aching body wasn't experiencing enough pain and needed more and more and he knew for sure this was going to be way too much.

 

"Ah," Zayn groaned in agony as Liam moaned in pleasure.

 

Zayn also remembered his first time with Liam.

 

Liam's parents were out for the night and agreed that Zayn could sleep over; they hadn't known he was into guys at the time. The two had spent the night in Liam's bedroom, and they had eaten pizza and drank soda and ended up making out of the carpet of Liam's room with the video game on pause and Zayn's hand stuffed down the front of Liam's boxers. They were careful, jerking each other off as quietly as possible, panting into each other's mouths and giggling immaturely until they both were shivering with the haze of teenage hormones and embarrassingly quick orgasms.

 

The first time Liam fucked Zayn was in his apartment, the lights on so Liam could see what he was doing. They had both been so nervous, having never done it with anyone before. Liam had used nearly a whole bottle of lube to be sure. He was so gentle, so cautious, wary to be sure he didn't go too fast or make it unenjoyable. Zayn was endeared by the sentiment, and kissed Liam for a long, long time for it. Liam had made Zayn into another person entirely, eliciting moans from the man that completely opposed his quiet nature. They had finished at nearly the same time, coming down from their highs completely wrapped up in each other's arms and hearts and souls.

 

Honestly, that was Zayn's favourite memory of Liam.

 

Now, Zayn felt violated; his body was nothing more than a toy for Liam to use. Liam didn't take Zayn's body seriously. He didn't treat Zayn's body with respect. He didn't take his time or prepare him or ask. He never did that. He rushed through it. He was selfish and apathetic toward the man in agony beneath him.

 

Liam started speeding up, drilling deep into Zayn's already worn body without a thought or care.

 

Zayn's back lifted off of the bed as he scrambled for purchase, his arms pushing his body up the mattress and desperately trying to get away from Liam.

 

"Shit...shit..." Zayn whined, attempting to push Liam away again.

 

"What is wrong with you?" Liam asked, last drops of patience slowly trickling out.

 

"Please... just... give me a second," Zayn begged, breathing heavily with the endorphins of his stress.

 

"You're really starting to piss me off,"

 

Zayn knew it. He didn't need Liam to tell him that. He figured by the way he was stalling him every five seconds with a pained groan or nudge at his chest to just- _just please_ it was getting tiresome.

 

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just... It's too much. I, I can't-"

 

With that, Liam was pounding into Zayn, making him cry out and quiver with the terrible discomfort that shot up his spine.

 

"'S that better?" He asked, maliciously, moving his hips athletically, not stopping no matter how many rough sobs and broken whines and useless pleas that left Zayn's poor vocal chords.

Liam just held his movements steady, pushing in, pulling out, and shoving back in harshly, watching his cock slip in and drag back out of the tight space. He moaned out ignorantly loud, drowning out all the whimpers coming from the man just under him. Liam just didn't care. Zayn watched in terror as Liam glided his hands up to Zayn's chest, fingers playing at his neck and precious airways and he wanted to shake his head furiously to tell the man

 

_no_

 

_no_

 

_no_

 

_no_

 

_NO,_

 

but Liam was already behind it.

It was Liam's thing.

Zayn never knew why it turned him on, but it did. They never talked about it and Zayn never gave his consent.

 

Zayn was sure it was a sadistic kink or something, that gave Liam pleasure to see Zayn scared and choking and in pain and without oxygen. Zayn was positive that every time Liam hit him it was because it made him feel good about himself. He was almost positive Liam just wanted to get back at someone. To even the score, so to speak. Zayn didn't understand it.

 

And as of late, _no_ never really seemed to work anymore so.

 

"Like that? Yeah?" Liam was growling like an animal; an out of control beast with no other outlet of expression. Liam's voice was deep and low and it made Zayn tremble pitifully out of fear every time Liam opened his mouth.

 

As soon as his big hands closed around Zayn's throat, he started tightening his grip.

 

And Zayn just laid there helplessly as Liam restricted his breathing. Zayn let his eyes flitter closed and his arms float weightlessly to his sides. He felt his eyes rolling back into his head as Liam choked him.

 

Zayn was in some sort of alternate universe. He was in another head space. His mind had completely lost touch with his body. He felt like he was watching this horrendous rape scene from another place. He felt as though the person being manhandled wasn't himself.

 

He was having an out of body experience.

 

He wasn't crying anymore.

 

He was just laying there, his body motionless as he took every single thing Liam forced into him with sharp little mutters of _take it take it take it_ dancing lightly off the tip of his tongue.

 

He was staring at the ceiling, and swallowing hard.

 

He couldn't get oxygen anymore.

 

When the ringing started perforating his ear drums he knew that he wasn't going to last forever.

 

Zayn felt so calm, for someone who couldn't breathe.

 

He wasn't fighting or thrashing or crying.

 

He wasn't coughing or sputtering or desperately trying to pry Liam's murderous hands from crushing his wind pipe.

 

He was just laying there, letting it happen.

 

Zayn's heart began to race with the feeling of being so close to death. He was being kept from having a basic need to survival, and he wasn't doing anything to stop it, so his heart began to warn him of the consequences.

 

His eyes fluttered and his whole body fell flat as the staticky white dots started to black out his vision.

 

Zayn felt his blood run cold.

 

He passed out.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

Liam pushed his face down into his lap, tongue flat on the underside of his dick as Zayn slurped and sucked.

 

He was knelt between Liam's knees, palms flat against the floor. Liam's hands were on his head, directing him and pulling him off when needed.

 

The tv was idly playing behind him, the voices unfocused and random. He wasn't really paying it any mind, but it was there in the room, adding to the atmosphere.

 

Liam was breathing quickly, his fingers tightly weaved into Zayn's dark locks. He pulled Zayn's head off of his lap only to press him down once more every few moments. Zayn worked his tongue over Liam's cock like he did so well, teasing the slit a bit and lapping up all the precome that dripped into his mouth as a result.

 

"Mmm... faster," Liam muttered.

 

Zayn obeyed.

 

He lifted and dropped his head back and with every motion his throat stretched wider and wider.

 

Liam seemed to be satisfied with his technique, and only jumped in to interfere by forcing him down.

 

"Fuck... Zayn," he cursed into the air, his pink lips agape as Zayn sped up, jerking his neck forward and taking more and more of Liam in.

 

And it wasn't much longer till Liam was shooting out warm transparent come, some of it pooling on Zayn's lips as he pulled off. Liam deflated against the couch cushions, his head weak and eyes droopy. Zayn swallowed it all, then licked his lips and gulped down the remaining dregs of it. Then, he tucked Liam's cock back into his boxers, and zipped up his jeans.

 

Zayn sat back on his heels and looked up at Liam.

 

"Go make me a drink," he said drowsily, kicking Zayn with his foot. Zayn nodded, then stood and made his way into the kitchen.

 

Zayn washed his hands and then went to their fridge, pulling open the door and digging in the back of it for the bottle of champagne Liam usually liked to have on Sunday afternoons.

 

He carefully pulled it out, and turned to place it on the countertop. He twisted the top of the cap a few times before it cooperated with him and opened. He sighed as he got Liam a glass from the cabinet above his head. He quickly poured the fizzy liquid and recapped the green bottle before stepping back from the counter and carrying the beverage with both hands, the platinum band on his left finger clicking against the glass as he walked back into the living room.

 

He placed the drink in Liam's hands, before stepping back and standing there, like a maid or a butler in his own home. He honestly didn't know what to do next. Liam always called the shots.

 

"You can go now," Liam said bitterly, raising his hand up to make Zayn step back in uncertainty. "Go," Liam said once more, waving his hand at him.

Zayn quickly left the room.

 

He rarely got time to himself when Liam was home. Liam was usually telling him what to do and when he didn't feel like talking to him or seeing him, he was sent back to their room.

 

He sat on the bed for a few minutes, his mind drifting a bit before he stood up and walked into the bathroom.

 

He flicked on the light by the door and took himself to the sink, placing his hands on the cool marble surface.

 

He turned the knob and let the water run out into his hands. He splashed the cool water on his face, then wiped his palm down over his cheeks.

 

He looked up into the mirror, his hands now resting on the edge of the sink.

 

Zayn didn't look in the mirror that much. He honestly tried not to. He avoided the stare of judgment his reflection gave him every time he passed by. He didn't want to face the truth head on.

 

He honestly didn't know who he was anymore. He no longer looked like the person he thought.

 

His golden brown eyes were no longer filled with light. His brown skin was pale and unhealthy looking. His limbs were weak and skinny and his hair limp and lifeless. He looked like a victim. He was the vision of a failure; a weak humiliating embarrassment of a man. A ghost, a hollow skeleton of his former self. He was no longer Liam's boyfriend. He wasn't Liam's happily engaged fiancé. He was an abuse victim. He was a rape victim. He was dirty and used and unloved. He was pathetic.

 

His lip was busted. He had deep trenches under his eyes, from his lack of sleep and his constant troubles. He had deep finger shaped bruises speckled across the circumference of his neck. He had a dark purple crater under his left eye, and he couldn't understand how Liam's soft hands could cause him so much hurt.

 

To say he was an absolute train wreck would be the biggest understatement he ever made in his entire life.

 

And somehow.

 

There was an inkling of doubt in his heart.

 

As to whether he really needed to be here after all.

 

"Zayn!" Liam called once again, voice making what was most likely a simple task an urgency.

 

Zayn left the bathroom.

 

"Go make me a sandwich," Liam mumbled as he tapped away at his phone screen. Zayn reminded himself not to huff and puff about it, lest he be heard and punished, so he kept his sigh in as he made his way into the kitchen.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

Zayn poured the first cup of water into the red clay pot that housed his little lemon tree.

 

"It's nice. I have no complaints," Zayn whispered as he leaned back up and glanced down to his ring.

 

He squinted, before turning around and bumping into the chair at the end of the table.

 

His eye was hurting pretty badly today. He was already bruised from the thick one Liam had graced him with on Saturday evening, then just this morning, Liam had decided he was going to slap him for putting too much milk in his coffee. Just his luck.

 

Zayn grabbed the second plastic cup, the one with the faded cartoon penguins on it, then carefully carried it over to his carnations. He crouched down to their level and added a generous amount of water to each plastic black pot before standing back up.

 

The third and fourth cup of water went to his hibiscus tree.

 

"I always wanted a traditional wedding and that when I was younger but... I guess this is okay." He shrugged as he stacked his cups.

He grabbed his ice cubes.

 

"I mean... I kind of wish..."

 

He stopped, cup clasped tightly in his hands.

 

"... I don't know... maybe if he... talked to me about it first? Like, really asked me if it was something I wanted." Zayn murmured, shyly, as if the plants would hear him bad mouthing his fiancé, and come to life only to smack him out of it.

 

"He never asks..." he breathed, before giving his pink orchid its last ice cube.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

After dinner, Liam always liked to have a drink.

 

Zayn always hated alcohol.

 

Liam stumbled into the kitchen with his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his hoodie. He was completely smashed, his big brown eyes glassy and his cheeks rosy and his breathe hot and smelling like liquor. Zayn was trying to make himself a mug of tea for his sore throat, but Liam was constantly bothering him and nudging him with his elbow and breathing down his neck.

 

"Liam, I mean... you've had a lot already," Zayn said, cowering away as Liam lightly pushed his arm.

 

"Um... 'didn't really a-ask you, mate..."

 

Zayn felt his face heating up in pent up frustration.

 

"You kind of did. You asked me to pour you another glass and I said no," Zayn replied, some rush of confidence and courage surging through him and coming out in the harsh bite of his tongue. He surprised himself, and even Liam, who took a step back him.

 

Zayn thoughtlessly placed the sugar back into the cupboard, then closed the door and leaned back down to stir his tea.

 

When Liam was this drunk he was typically useless, only able to knock things over or spill his beer all about the carpets with an unbothered chortle. He drank to have fun, to feel happy and lightheaded again like most people. He was an absolute mess and made an even bigger one that Zayn might as well follow him around on his knees with a cloth and a bottle of Lysol to keep him in check.

 

Zayn startled out of his thoughts when he heard the sound of glass shattering against the tile. He jumped, his heart racing as he turned around to see what Liam had gotten himself into.

 

Liam was advancing toward him with a jagged razor sharp broken glass bottle in his hands.

 

"Wh-what ar-" Zayn trailed, voice cutting off when Liam grabbed him by the hair and began to drag him out of the kitchen.

 

Liam didn't speak. Zayn didn't speak.

Neither said a word as Liam threw him onto the floor, sobering up immediately as if this was just what he was born to do. They both fell into their roles instantly, Zayn curling up as Liam hovered him, hard trainers jabbing into his shins and then his stomach and then to his jaw. Liam pried his body apart, sending a sharp kick to his chest. Zayn just took it, arms shielding his head but leaving the rest of him exposed.

 

Liam didn't stop until Zayn was bruised and battered all over, soft honey brown skin in an array of purples and dark reds and a hue of crimson as it ran a stream down his chin.

 

Liam then grabbed him by his wrist and dragged his body back into the kitchen. Zayn shivered in fear, heart pounding as he was faced with a puddle of beer with brown glass scattered in the mess. He felt the horror spiralling up his bones and boiling his marrow. He quivered like railroad tracks, laying helplessly as Liam's vehement aura shook him to pieces.

 

He sat there, and Liam threw the other piece of the bottle right down in front of him. He blinked as the alcohol splashed up and into his eyes.

 

Liam tore Zayn's hands away from where they were flat against his throbbing chest.

 

Zayn was a slave to the vehement ache in his body. He had deep red scrapes all up and down each of his legs, his knee and chin busted open and dripping thick red blood. He shifted as he sat on the tile, trying to take the pressure off of his legs with Liam's tight grip on his hands.

 

He flinched when he felt his flesh being torn open. His palms were stinging and when he focused on Liam, he saw the thick piece of glass in his fingers pressing in deep and gliding over his skin.

 

"Shit..." Zayn breathed, his heart racing and his blood gushing out simultaneously.

 

Liam just stared at the red liquid, biting down on his lip as he cut Zayn's hands, like it was his favourite way to pass the time.

 

He positioned the piece at the base of Zayn's left hand, and swiped it across quickly and harshly, the jagged ends of glass tearing his hand up.

 

Zayn just closed his eyes and sat there like the bitch he was. He inhaled, then exhaled, and steadied himself. He could do this. He could take this. It was only a few tiny pieces of glass and a bit of stinging alcohol on his burning flesh but it could have been worse. It could have been his neck Liam was slitting open. But it was only his hands.

 

He sighed, blood trickling down his shin and burning his other scrapes. Zayn kept his eyes closed as he began to dig glass into his other hand. He sat there in some sort of dream, his mind completely fabricating an alternate reality where this wasn't happening to him. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack, his wild heart and expanding lungs hitting against his rib cage and wracking his entire framework.

 

When whatever the man accomplished what he set out to do, Liam tossed the pieces of glass back onto the floor and stood back up, hand in Zayn's hair and bringing him up alongside him.

 

He shoved Zayn up to the sink, bending his body over until he was hanging over the edge of the sink. Zayn whimpered at the pressure applied to his tender muscles.

 

The next thing he felt, was awful feeling of scorching hot water being poured over his head and down his back.

 

"Keep your fucking mouth shut, Zayn,"

 

And he did.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

"Get up," Zayn heard the deep voice and arose almost instantly, the harsh slap on the bare flesh of his back enough to get him up.

 

Zayn rubbed his puffy eyes, as he slid to a sitting position at the edge of the bed.

 

He looked up to Liam and wondered what it was he should be doing. According to the clock beside the bed it was **3:10** in the morning. It was Sunday morning, though, so Liam didn't have to get up for work. Zayn usually cooked his breakfast for him at around noon when he woke, so he was very disoriented.

 

"My mum's in hospital. I won't be home for a couple of days." He said, as he zipped up the suitcase lying on the end of the bed.

 

"What happened?" Zayn asked, half asleep.

 

"That's none of your God damn business," Liam snapped his voice obviously just as tired.

 

"...sorry," Zayn mumbled through a yawn as Liam snapped the case up and placed it on the floor.

 

"Just don't fucking burn the house down, alright?" Liam stopped moving to say, then went back to digging through the closet for his boots and coat. Liam then pulled them on and slipped his peacoat over his shoulders. He grabbed his briefcase and his work phone, before stuffing them into his pocket.

 

"I'll call to check in every day. And you better answer," He said as he walked toward Zayn, hand outstretched to touch and comb through Zayn's hair.

 

Zayn closed his eyes.

 

"I will,"

"You better," Liam corrected, as he yanked Zayn's head back by his hair, making his eyes pop open.

 

Zayn didn't respond.

 

He recoiled from the rough contact.

 

Then, Liam was walking away from him, spinning on his heel and trotting out of the room with his heavy boots dragging along the floors.

 

The first thing Zayn did when Liam left, was go back to sleep.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

"Yeah so... I won't be coming back for a week. I need to be here with them." Liam said, voice low and serious.

 

"Okay," Zayn replied.

 

"Now go make yourself useful somewhere. If you can," Liam chuckled bitterly, as if to distract himself from the intense weight of his situation. It's not like Zayn knew what was happening. Liam wasn't telling him. But from what he could glean it was pretty serious.

 

"Alright."

 

And with that, the call was ended.

 

Zayn stood by the phone for a good long moment.

 

Zayn knew he wasn't supposed to use the phone unless it was to answer Liam's calls. He wasn't supposed to do anything besides sit around the spotless house all day and do nothing but wait for Liam's return. He most certainly wasn't to call anyone.

 

But as he stood there staring down to the deep cuts on his palms, he knew he had to do something.

 

His hands trembled as he reached up and took down the phone again, his fingers pressing each memorised number one by one. He held the phone to his ear, swallowing hard and praying someone picked up.

 

Zayn couldn't handle anymore silence.

 

"... _hello_?"

 

Zayn felt tears stinging his eyes as soon as he heard her voice, soft and sweet just like he always remembered.

 

" _Hello_?"

 

But what would he even say? How could he tell her? How was he supposed to expect her understanding? How would he explain a four year hiatus? How could he possibly clear this one up?

 

His lips were glued shut, completely unsure what to say or how to say it or even why he was trying to say it. He had acted on impulse and now he was trying to figure out what to do.

 

Zayn felt so unbelievably stupid.

 

He felt like Liam was there in that very moment, telling him how dumb and worthless he was. He felt like he was hearing more harsh words about how he could never think properly or do simple things correctly and he kind of understood why Liam was always saying those things to him. Liam was right; he was stupid.

 

He wanted to melt again. He wanted to just evaporate into thin air. He wanted to crawl under the floorboards and disappear so he could never make any more dumb ass mistakes ever again.

 

And Zayn should not have felt so scared to speak with his mother. He shouldn't have been so worried of her judgement. There was a small portion of him that knew precisely who she was. He knew his mum would never hurt him like Liam did. He knew she would use that tender voice to soothe him. He knew she would invite him to come back home like the prodigal son; leaving home and returning beaten, bruised and broken. That part of him knew she wouldn't care that he was dirty, and pathetic. She would accept him, and love him. She would be overjoyed to have her son back.

 

Zayn hung up.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

Liam returned tired and grumpy.

 

He didn't even look at Zayn, shoving past him and collapsing into the bed.

 

Zayn stayed up the night of his return, his mind entangling him in a deep abyss of his thoughts. He sat by the window in the living room like he did sometimes, head resting on his folded arms as he stared at the dark outside world.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

Zayn had his small box of belongings together in the corner of the bedroom. He didn't own much. It wasn't like Liam was alway spending money on him. His clothing was one thing, and his prayer mat was another, but besides that, he didn't have much to pack.

 

He was sat on the floor in their room with the cardboard box in front of him one afternoon when he remembered it.

 

When Liam started taking things from him, he started putting his things away. When he wasn't allowed to work anymore, he had kept his last pay check from when he worked at the public library all those years ago.

 

He smiled at the memory of an eighteen year old Zayn, shelving books when Liam would show up during his shift and ask him for help finding a book and Zayn wouldn't be impressed at all with his antics, but would play along anyhow and when he found whatever damned book it was (The Last of the Mohicans or some shit) there would he a slip of paper lodged in the center of the book. It would always be something ridiculous like,

 

_you're so beautiful_

_I like how you look in my jumper_

_missed you today_

_let's go out tonight_

And Zayn's personal favourite,

_I love you_

 

Zayn sighed as he stood and walked into the bathroom. He kneeled down, his bruised calves aching as he pulled open the sink cabinet doors.

 

He reached his hand up under the sink, weaving past the pipes and faucet knobs, blindly feeling for the envelope he taped to the counter top three years ago.

 

He finally felt the paper, slipping his index nail under the edge and peeling it from the flat surface.

 

The paper was moist and mildew smelling but he ignored it, and tore open the package.

 

He counted the bills, finding a little under fifty quid in his hands. He tried to think back to remember whether or not this was all of it.

 

Zayn was sure he was actually getting dumber. He felt like simple things he was starting to forget. He lost track of time. He washed loads twice. He sometimes forgot where he placed things minutes prior and it scared him. He was worried he was loosing brain cells or something from Liam's constant abuse. Mental and physical abuse could definitely fuck somebody up. He wasn't sure if that was really logical or not, but he felt like it was the only explanation. And even if he sounded completely insane then that only supported his fears. Or maybe he was just playing the part Liam put him in. He didn't know, and his head hurt trying to make sense of it.

 

He didn't know. He couldn't remember. So he got up from where he sat on the cool tile, and walked back into the bedroom.

 

He disposed of the envelope, at the very bottom of the rubbish. He then dug through his closet for one of his shoe boxes. He pulled out the one that said, Air Jordan III, White, Size 13. He opened the box, and picked up the left shoe, pulling out the brown paper from the toe and stuffing money in. Then he replaced the brown wad of paper and stuck the shoe back in the box.

 

He closed the box and put it back.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

Zayn wasn't ready.

 

He hadn't been ready when Liam walked into the house that evening, rage steaming from his flushed face and showing his balled fists and that vein in the side of his neck that swelled when he got intensely bothered.

 

He hadn't been ready.

 

He had finished cooking dinner early, rice not too watery, not too dry. He had chopped and sautéed the stir fried vegetables in a short time; an expert at it from years of failed attempts that resulted in a harsh slap. Although Zayn wouldn't eat it, the pork roast was perfectly seasoned and cut into the little squares like Liam preferred.

 

Zayn was sitting at the table, staring into space when Liam walked into the house and slammed the door.

 

That was it.

 

That was his warning.

 

That was the indicator that Liam was angry.

 

He got so childish when he was a big ball of rash, unfocused rage. Liam was trapped in a blaze of hot red anger; mixed emotions he couldn't control. He couldn't direct his pain and frustrations into anything specific. There was no spot his mind could lock onto as the target, except Zayn.

 

So when Liam saw Zayn, he grabbed him.

 

Zayn happened to think he was a good person.

 

He was sure he was polite. He was thoughtful. He was caring. He loved his family. He bought his mum a card for her birthday. He told all of his sisters he loved them. He had gone to the gym with his dad a few times. He had taken Waliyha to the mall to meet her friends once. He had gone on a double date with one of Doniya's older friends to save her birthday plans. He had sat and let Safaa put eyeliner and mascara on him one time.

 

Zayn was a good person. He never got back at Danny for outing him to the whole school. He never responded when those uneducated idiots asked him if he was going to come to school one day with a bomb strapped to his chest. He never let the comments bother him. Zayn learned to get past it when he was constantly ostracised for being different. He still thanked his god for the sun, moon and stars everyday, even when, in his heart, he wished he were dead.

 

Zayn was a good man. Although he wasn't happy, he still did what was his duty. It was his job to stay home. That was what was expected of him. He did that, and he did it well. He always followed the rules. He always thought carefully before acting. Sometimes he slipped up but he was sure he was doing all he could to protect himself in terms of judgment.

 

Zayn wasn't a bad person.

 

But he felt like he was.

 

He felt like he deserved it, when Liam threw him up against the bedroom door from the hallway.

 

He felt like it was his duty, to accept when Liam bared him of his clothes.

 

He felt like all he knew to do, was take it, when Liam pressed his cheek flat against the wood surface of the door.

 

He felt like it was what he was born to be, when his nails slipped against the hinges in an poor attempt to gain purchase.

 

He felt like it was his destiny, when he felt the velvet crimson liquid rushing down the inside of his thigh.

 

He felt like he would be lost without Liam's strong hands pulling his hair so hard he felt some of it tear out.

 

He knew there was nothing else he'd feel at home in, than the sickening crunch that came from his rib cage as Liam's hard boot made contact with his bones.

 

It was his normality. There was nothing else for him in the world, other than the the sound of Liam calling him stupid and worthless and ugly.

 

It was the way things were meant to be. It was natural, like the rising and the setting of the sun everyday. Zayn was supposed to get hurt. He deserved it, apparently.

 

Zayn was born to suffer, and to die. Those were his only assurances in this world. Zayn was placed into purgatory. He was always teased, stuck between the death and the love. He was trapped in a hell of tantalising emotions, and was never to be released of his debt. He worked it off over and over and over again and still didn't even come close to being freed.

 

Zayn hadn't been ready when Liam came home that day.

 

Zayn hadn't been ready when Liam finally broke him.

 

 

**< < < <**

 

 

Zayn remembers that night too well.

 

He woke up at two o'clock in the morning, coughing up blood.

 

He remembers stumbling into the bathroom, hands unsteady as he flipped on the light switch. He didn't recognising himself in the mirror.

 

He remembers sitting on the side of the tub for a bit, thinking, mind pacing back and forth for so long.

 

When he stood, he crouched to his knees in their closet, and slid out the shoebox. He moved the brown paper, took out the shoes, closed the lid, and placed the box back in the closet.

 

He remembers pulling on a random jumper, some sweatpants, and a hoodie, slowly because of how badly bruised he was.

 

He slipped his feet into the shoes, alongside the money. He went over to the dresser, swiping a handful of change from the wooden surface and dropping it into his pocket.

 

Zayn remembers it being dark in the house. The glow of bleached moonlight reached in through the windows, cold night air making him shudder.

 

He remembers tripping on his own feet on his way to the corner of the room, to get his box, having forgotten the feeling of shoes.

 

He remembers hearing Liam shift in his sleep.

 

He remembers not being able to take all of his things, because they were too heavy, and he was too weak. Zayn quickly gathered up his prayer mat and left the room.

 

He remembered to slide the ring off of his left finger, and then he placed it on the counter in the kitchen.

 

His hands fumbled with the front door lock, but finally, after four years, it snicked open, and permitted his escape.

 

He turned the knob, pulled the door open, and walked out of the house.


End file.
